Phobia
by StillSilentWatcher
Summary: When Harry returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year of school, things begin to feel different. With a little too much on his mind, Harry finds a way to take some of the pressure off. Warning: Self injury, language, rating may go up. Not Slash
1. Chapter 1: Nostophobia

**A/N: Hello there! So, this is my first attempt at a multi-chaptered story, so please be patient with me. Also, I'm sorry if this plot line is overused. I really wanted to write this though! Sorry Snape isn't in this chapter- I promise he'll make his debut in the next one. All reviews are welcome! :) And if you didn't read it in the summary, this story is centered around self injury, so if that will negatively affect you, please don't read. Rating may go up in the future.  
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Chapter 1: Nostophobia

High in the darkened Gryffindor tower, Harry Potter pressed his face further into his pillow. It was the first night of the new term and despite the cheering atmosphere of the annual welcome feast, Harry felt an unwavering weight pressing on him right down to his core. Standing up and slipping noiselessly to the floor, Harry padded over to the window ledge and sat down, leaning against the cool of the window pane. Through the glass he could see the familiar grounds that surrounded the castle. The lake, the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's hut, and the Quidditch pitch all came together within his view to form a seamless picture of the place he had come to call home over the past five years. It was a beautiful scene under the dim moonlight. But yet… as his eyes glazed over the landscape, Harry could not help but notice that the grounds had a colder, bleaker feel to them, one that he felt had nothing to do with the darkness caused by the late hour. For the first time Harry could ever recall, there was something about the grounds that felt foreign; In fact, it was not only the grounds, but the entire castle that felt strange to Harry. Normally, returning to Hogwarts was the thing Harry looked forward to most every year. Compared to his summers with the Dursleys, coming back to Hogwarts was like Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one. But for some reason, walking back through the school's halls felt…different.

Harry sighed, his breath fogging the glass next to his head. He stood up and slinked back to his four post bed and dropped into it wearily. On either side of him he could hear Ron and Neville's snores, and although he was too lazy to lift his head and look, Harry was sure that Dean and Seamus joined Ron and Neville in slumber. Suddenly overwhelmed by anger, Harry slammed his right fist into one of the posts on his bed. Why couldn't he be asleep like the rest of his classmates? Why on earth could he just turn off his brain like the other boys? Then it came to him, just like it had before he had gotten up.

'_Neither can live while the other survives.'_

Those were the words that haunted him. Every time that Harry tried to close his eyes and fall into unconsciousness, the words spoken by the prophecy clanged through his head so loudly he swore he could almost hear it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy who lived knew that he wouldn't be the boy who lived for much longer. In that moment, it seemed as though all of the nighttime darkness in the boys' sleeping room took physical form and slammed itself into Harry brain.

There was absolutely no way around it, no matter what angle he tried to look at it from. He was going to die. He would never know what it would be like to grow up, have a job, or a family, to experience all the things the boys around him had to look forward to. Voldemort was going to find him and kill him. It was either that or Harry would have to kill Voldemort himself. He shuddered. And he wasn't sure he had the guts to do that.

As he unconsciously rolled over onto his side, Harry became dimly aware of the fact that his hand was tingling- In fact, as the pain brought him out of the swirl of emotions in his head, Harry realized that his hand was throbbing quite painfully. He brushed the fingers of his left hand against his aching knuckles , pulling them away as his skin made contact with something sticky.

'_Way to go idiot,'_ he thought, as he pulled himself upright and, for the second time that night, stood up from his bed. He made his way over to his trunk at the foot of his bed and dug around in it, pulling out one of Dudley's old T-shirts that he had brought with him from the Dursley's house. Deciding it would do as a makeshift bandage, Harry gingerly wrapped the worn article of clothing around his bleeding knuckles and climbed back into bed.

He sighed, berating himself. _'Watch your temper Harry. If you go around punching things every time you get mad, the Daily Prophet will report that you've lost your bonkers again…' _He snorted. _'They might actually be right for a change.' _Harry lay further back into his pillow. Even though he knew that punching his bed post had been stupid, he couldn't help but notice that the pain in his hand had gotten rid of his inability to snap out of his thoughts. _'Figures,' _he thought grimly. _'The thing that stopped me from being in pain was to be in pain.' _Floppin_g_ dejectedly onto his back, Harry closed his eyes and this time was able to fall into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>"HARRY!"<p>

Harry jolted awake to find Ron's freckled face hovering over his own. "Bloody hell Ron," he muttered, sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, which after having slept on, was untidier than usual. As Harry's blurry vision began to come into focus, he noticed that an unusual amount of sunshine was pouring in through the window next to his bed. He looked up and saw that Ron, who had moved over towards his own bed, was already in his school robes and was brushing haphazardly at his teeth. When Ron noticed his best friend staring at him, he waved for him to get up.

Still scrubbing vigorously at his teeth, Ron managed to spit out, "Eff ou don urry up ere gon be ate fur otions!"

Harry scrubbed at his face. His head was pounding already, and he sometimes didn't understand why Ron even bothered to talk when his mouth was so full. "What did you say Ron?"

Striding across the room, Ron opened the window next to Harry's bed and with a tremendous effort, spat out a large quantity of tooth paste and spit.

"That's better. I said, if you don't hurry up, we're going to be late for Potions! You slept through breakfast mate- I thought about waking you up, but Hermione said it was probably best to let you sleep if you were tired enough to have slept through all the commotion Seamus and Dean caused when they were getting ready this morning…"

Harry's thoughts tuned out Ron's ramblings about Seamus and Dean setting off an entire pack of Weasley's Wizard Weezes' fireworks in the common room. Had he really managed to sleep through all of that noise? Typically he was an extremely light sleeper- It had always been beneficial to wake up as soon as Uncle Vernon or Dudley opened his bedroom door to shut up his screaming at night, or to hear Aunt Petunia coming up the stairs before she started pounding on his door to get up and get breakfast started. _'As if they'd leave me alone to sleep anyway,'_ Harry thought bitterly. But even if no one interrupted his sleep, Harry usually did not get more than a few light hours a night. No matter how tired he was, his sleep was always troubled by nightmares about Cedric, the graveyard, and images of Sirius' face. '_And of course the prophecy…'_ So why had he slept so well last night?

As if his body was answering his mind, Harry's right hand gave a painful throb.

'That's right, I bashed open my knuckles on my bed post last night.' Examining his hand further, Harry noticed that some blood had managed to soak through his makeshift bandage and was smeared on his bed sheets. _'Terrific. I'll have to ask Hermione for a good cleansing charm later, and of course she'll want to know why I need it.'_ As much as Harry loved his friend, he couldn't help but be a tad exasperated by her nosiness.

"Oi, Harry, are you coming or not?"

Harry looked up to see that Ron was standing by the door to the dorm with his bag slung over his shoulder. They _must_ be running late if Ron was anxious to get a move on…

"You go on ahead Ron, I'll be there soon," Harry said, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "Tell Slughorn I'll be there as fast as I can, okay?"

"Sure thing mate." And with that, Ron started down the stairs, calling back, "I hope he isn't as much of a git as Snape!"

"Yeah," Harry said softly, not really caring if Ron could hear him or not. The thought of Slughorn being as impatient as Snape had crossed Harry's mind, but at that moment he didn't particularly care. He knew that he was going to be late for Potions- and at the rate he was going he might miss it entirely- but for some reason Harry simply couldn't bear the thought of having to go down and join his classmates. Like the feeling of abnormality he had received last night, Harry felt awkward and nervous around the other Hogwarts students. Sure, he was used to receiving stares and had grown accustomed to hearing people whisper things as he passed, but upon his return this year it was all different. Harry felt paranoid. He knew that most of the students now knew about Sirius and what had happened at the Ministry in May. Would they try pressing him for information? What if they still thought he was a liar? The thought of his fellow students ostracizing him further was almost unbearable to him. Just thinking of the rest of his Potions class looking at him as he entered the room was enough to make Harry feel sick to his stomach. How different would things be this year?

As he was getting dressed, Harry began to absent mindedly rub at his bandaged hand, at first lightly, but then hard, as he became more focused on the pain it had started to cause him. As blood started to soak through the old T-shirt again, Harry noticed that the knot in his chest loosed just a little bit.

'_I don't know if I can do this_,' thought Harry, as he swung his school bag over his shoulder and headed down the stairs off to Potions.

**A/N: Please review and let me know if it sucked or not!**


	2. Catagelophobia

Chapter 2: Catagelophobia

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, it was like getting candy when I checked my email I'm going to try to update this on a regular basis, but with college, midterms, and this cold I can't seem to get rid of, it might go kind of slowly :p But enough of that- on with chapter 2. Warnings: Language, Self-injury, not slash (something about Harry and Snape as a couple creeps me out- Snape is as old as his parents :P) By the way, I OWN NOTHING, JK ROWLING OWNS IT ALL.**

19…18….17…..15…..

Harry dashed around the corner and down the staircase leading to the dungeons. He just might be able to make it…

10…9….8….7….

'_Come on Harry! Just a little bit faster…!' _

5…4…3…2…!

He had made it. Slamming to a halt, Harry stood outside the door to the Potions classroom, his hand wrapped loosely around the door handle. He wasn't late (well, sort of), but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to open the door and walk into class. He was sure he would be the last one to come in, and that would only bring about awkward stares from the other students. But then again, wouldn't it be worse if he _did_ come in late? Or not at all? He shook his head. Why was he even thinking about this? It was silly. Deciding not to stall any longer, Harry pushed open the door, hoping to find Ron and Hermione quickly and get a seat.

Much to his delight the class had not started, and most of the students sat in their seats chatting merrily to their neighbors. In fact, he did not even see their new Potions teacher in the room. Harry let a slight smile creep over his face. He had gotten all worked up over nothing.

Spotting Ron and Hermione in the front row, Harry made his way down the aisle in the center of the classroom to join his friends and plopped down in the seat next to his red haired friend.

"See Hermione, I told you he wouldn't miss the first day of class," said Ron cheerily, prodding Hermione with his elbow. She shot him a piercing glance before turning on Harry.

"Harry, you ought to be more careful! Ron told me you slept all the way through breakfast and that he could barely get you up when he went back up to the tower- what if you had missed today? Professor Slughorn might be even stricter than Professor Snape!"

Before Harry had even opened his mouth to retaliate, Ron was rolling his eyes and running both hands through his wild hair.

"Oh lay off it Hermione," he started in a pained tone of voice. "It's not like Harry'll die if he's a few minutes late every now and then." He gave Harry a friendly thump on the back. "Right mate?"

It was at that moment that Hogwarts newest Potions teacher came strolling into the dungeons with a loud bang of the doors. Slughorn was a round, portly man, with a good natured, ruddy face and large, bushy mutton chops that seemed to swallow his red cheeks.

Taking the head of the class, Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Alright, alright, let's get started shall we?"

Beside him, Ron groaned audibly, but Harry gave a silent sigh of relief. It was Slughorn's entrance to the class that had caused his two friends to miss his noticeable response to Ron's pat on the back. Although his situation at the Dursley's house had gotten better since Harry found out that he was a wizard, his uncle still occasionally lost his temper, usually in combination with a little too much whiskey or wine. While most of the wounds Harry had sustained over the summer had healed, the tenderness across his back lingered, as he expected it would for at least the next few weeks.

Harry leaned back gingerly in his chair. In a way, he almost wished that his uncle had hit him as much as he used to- it was a form of punishment, wasn't it? He was being punished by his uncle. And didn't he deserve some sort of punishment? After all, he was the reason Sirius and Cedric were dead- it was his fault…

"And bless my soul, if it isn't Harry Potter, right here, sitting stark in the middle of my class!"

At the mention of his name, Harry was brought crashing back to reality. Slughorn was standing directly in front of him, beaming down at Harry over his rather rotund belly. Noticing that the rest of the class was now staring at him, Harry felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hated people looking at him, yet somehow it always seemed to happen.

"So good to see you in my class m'boy," continued Slughorn, chuckling slightly. "I expect you'll be just as good at Potions as your mother was, eh? She was a real gem, one of my absolute favorites!"

At this Harry perked up. Slughorn had known his mother? _'Well, Dumbledore did mention that he had taught here before…'_ "Professor," he began, not caring that the class could hear, " did you just say you knew-"

"Well, well, looks like Saint Potter has yet another admirer."

How had he forgotten that he would be in this class as well? Harry turned around and, sure enough, the blonde head of Draco Malfoy sat directly behind him. The Slytherin smirked down smugly at the Gryffindor. For some reason, Malfoy seemed even cockier than he usually did at the beginning of term.

"Going to kiss his feet for a few extra points Potter?"

Before he could retaliate, Hermione had turned around to face Malfoy .

"At least he hasn't been kissing Professor Snape's feet for the past 5 years. Harry got into this class through his own doing."

Draco's face seemed to crinkle a little in disgust at Hermione's response.

"What would you know about it you filthy little Mud-"

"Now, now, I will not have any of that in my classroom Mr. Malfoy." Slughorn made his presence known once again at the head of the class, this time with his arms planted firmly across his broad chest. The good natured look on his face had disappeared, and his cheeks seemed red for a different reason than just his ruddy complexion. "Now, if you will, everyone please open your textbooks to page number 12 and begin preparing your ingredients for Living Death, the first potion we will be studying this semester."

Taking the hint from Slughorn's quietly serious tone of voice, the class did as they were told with relatively little noise. As he pulled out his book, cutting knife, and ingredients, Harry felt a small hand rest itself on his arm. Looking up, he saw that the hand belonged to Hermione.

"Don't worry about him Harry- he's just trying to provoke you." She paused and looked straight into his eyes. "And I meant what I said about you getting into this class. You earned it Harry."

Harry smiled softly at his bushy haired friend. For as much as she scolded Ron and himself, he knew that when Hermione gave compliments she truly meant them. "Thanks Hermione."

Returning the smile, Hermione turned back to her own work, leaving Harry to his thoughts as he began to cut up a bit of mandrake root. He wished that he could have accepted Hermione's praise, but some small nagging in the back of brain couldn't let it get through. The whole encounter with Malfoy had set him on edge, even more than it usually did. It's not like he had asked Slughorn to make a big deal out of him; In fact, that too had made him extremely uncomfortable. But what was he supposed to do, tell his professor to shut up?

Harry continued chopping angrily.

And who was Malfoy to say Harry was a suck up? '_Snape wouldn't have taken it from me even if I had tried,_' he thought sarcastically. '_Leave it to Malfoy to make me look like an egotistical bastard…_' Suddenly Harry became very nervous.

What _did_ the rest of his classmates think of him? Slowly looking up from his work, Harry tried as discreetly as possible to read the faces of the other students. As he looked down the rows behind him, Harry noticed that several of his classmates had been staring at him, only to looks away hastily as his eyes met theirs. Others simply continued to observe him even when he made eye contact. He turned back around quickly.

Why were they all staring at him? He bit his lip.

Surely they didn't agree with Malfoy, did they? Couldn't they tell that he had not wanted that attention? Abandoning his mandrake root, Harry pressed the tip of his potions knife into the pad of his thumb. What if they treated him the way they did the previous year? Harry ground the knife a little deeper into his finger. He wasn't sure if he would be able to handle everyone whispering about him again. Didn't they know how hard it was to be the Boy Who Lived? It was not something that he wanted or was ever proud of. And then again, like a curse, those words entered his swirling thoughts; _Neither can live while the other survives._

He thought he was going to be sick.

Throwing his things into his bag and slipping the knife into his pocket, Harry stood up wildly, stumbling to get out from behind the table and into the aisle.

"Harry!" Exclaimed Slughorn, standing up from his chair. " Where do you think you're going son?"

Managing only to mumble back a "Sorry!" in his panicked state, Harry ran to the back of the classroom and bolted out of the door.

* * *

><p>Enjoying the unusual quiet of the corridors, Severus Snape strolled through the halls on the first floor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Admittedly, Severus had always preferred the cool of the dungeons in comparison to the often stifling classrooms in the rest of the castle, but on this particular morning the warm of the sunshine pouring though the windows was too good to resist. On any other day, the Potions Master would be grading essays, devising class plans, or brewing potions either for examples to show his students or for the infirmary's stocks. However, as it was the first day back, Severus did not have any business to attend to and had decided to spend his free class period relaxing to prepare himself for the onslaught of dunder-headed students he would soon have to face.<p>

It had never been that Severus had particularly _disliked_ the teaching profession- in fact, he rather enjoyed being able to educate students and see the sparks of understanding going off behind their eyes- but it was instead the thick skulled, arrogant, and plain irritating students that he disliked.

'_And there always seem to be so many of them…'_ He thought, rolling his eyes to himself.

As he rounded the corner that lead him closer back to his new classroom, a noise came softly to his ears.

* * *

><p>Harry ran until his breath came out in short, labored pants and he was forced to stop. He knew that he should know where he was, but for some reason nothing in his brain seemed to be able to connect to anything else inside of it or anything that was going on around him. As he stood leaning against the corridor's rough stone wall, all that registered was the same overbearing pressure on his mind that he had felt the night before. Thoughts swam in and out of focus in a random menagerie of his life and his fears. It had to stop. It had to. But how could it? Harry was aware of what was going on, yet he couldn't will himself out of his stupor.<p>

And then he remembered.

It seemed wild, illogical. But yet, wasn't all of what was happening to him illogical? It was illogical for him to be standing in the hall unable to control his mind, illogical for him to have had such a response to Malfoy's prodding, illogical to feel something on his head that physically did not exist- hell, it was even illogical that he was alive. He should have died any number times by now, so what harm could one more failure of logic hurt?

Ghosting a numb hand into his pocket, Harry's fingers curled around his small potion's knife.

It was like a dream. A dream so convincing that Harry almost believed it was real. _'Is it? Is any of this real?'_

The blade entered the flesh of his leg before he had even considered the answer to his latest question.

At first, Harry's brain didn't quite register that it was his own arm that had forced the sharp object into his thigh. However, as the fog surrounding his perception began to clear and he took several deep breaths, he became painfully aware of his latest loss of temper. Gritting his teeth, Harry pulled up sharply on the hilt of the small knife, pulling out the half length of the blade that had been lodged in his skin and placed it back into his pocket. Much to his surprise, the entirety of the act had not hurt nearly as much as he had anticipated. In fact, he could barely feel it. All that remained was an annoying twinge and a dull throb. Looking more closely at his leg, Harry could now see the shiny wetness that had spread across the black fabric of his pant leg.

'_Smooth move Harry,'_ he scolded, _'This is twice now.'_ But yet, as much as he hated to admit it once again, he felt _better_.

He shook his head. _'Stop being an idiot Harry and get a grip on yourself.'_

Deciding it best to go back to the Gryffindor dorm and change his trousers, Harry repositioned his bag on his shoulder and began the slightly hobbling trek back to his house.

* * *

><p>He was sure he heard something.<p>

After many years as a double agent, and even more years as a Death Eater, Severus Snape was well attuned to any and all noises around him. As far as he could tell, it sounded like a shuffling noise, and a shuffling noise that coming closer to him with each second. When the source of the sound came into Severus' view, he cursed himself for not realizing what it was earlier.

It was Potter. It was _always_ Potter. Of course, what a wonderful way to ruin his thus far pleasant morning.

The boy before him seemed to also take in the appearance of his professor, and gave a small start.

"Potter," the man snarled," what, may I ask, are you doing wandering around the halls whilst class is still obviously in session?"

Behind the round wire glasses, Severus could see the boy's green pupils darting back and forth. Severus sniffed. '_Probably trying to think up some ridiculous excuse to avoid punishment, the arrogant child.' _

"Well Potter?"

Harry's response fell carelessly out of his mouth. "I, uh, I got sick sir, in Potions class. I was just, um, making my way back to the, my dorm."

Taking a closer look at the boy's appearance, Severus stopped the admonishing that statement he had prepared. The boy certainly did seem haggard, and although he could not quite pin down what it was, Severus could plainly see that something was ailing his least favorite student. He looked out of breath, and Severus noted that he seemed to be shifting nearly all of his weight onto his left leg. Perhaps he would save his scolding for another time. Sadly.

"Then continue to make your way back to your house," he said silkily, almost not believing that he was letting Potter go without punishment. "And don't let me catch you out of class again Potter! Despite your illness, I expect you in my classroom in precisely two hours."

Seeing this as a release, Harry bowed his head and nearly sprinted off down the hallway and up the staircase leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

'_How like his father,_' he scoffed, watching the boy dash off. _'Not a single regard for any rules or authority. I should have taught him a lesson.'_

Just as he went to take a step and continue on his way, Severus paused as something on the floor caught his glance. A few drops of a dark liquid littered the floor. Curious, the Potions Master bent down and dabbed the very tip of his finger into one of the more prominent drops. He sniffed it before wrinkling his nose.

'_Blood?'_


	3. Chapter 3: Atychiphobia

**Chapter 3: Atychiphobia**

**A/N: So, again, I don't own ANY of this my broskis. Oh, and bonus points to whoever correctly guesses what the phobias each chapter are. Warning: This chapter does contain somewhat graphic descriptions of self injury. If reading this will be detrimental to your well being, please don't read.**

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat down behind his desk. In front of him sat all of his sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. students, who were silently reading the first chapter of their textbooks.

All of his sixth year N.E.W.T. students but one.

'_I knew I shouldn't have let Potter go…'_

He couldn't believe he had actually trusted Potter to listen to one of his superiors without a reinforcing punishment. The boy always had proved himself to be an arrogant little toerag…

'_I don't understand how the Headmaster has not managed to see that the Potter brat is not the golden boy everyone treats him to be.'_

Severus leaned back into his chair and rested his head lightly on his hand, observing the students in front of him. Towards the front of the class were the Granger girl and the Weasley boy. He snorted.

'_No doubt his little friends are covering for him.'_

But yet…

The longer he looked at the other two members of the "Golden Trio," the more he noticed that the two Gryffindors seemed rather distracted. While Severus was not surprised to see the Weasley boy glance up from his book nervously every few seconds, he found it odd that the ever studious Granger girl also did not seem to be reading the material, and often exchanged glances with her fellow Gryffindor.

'_Perhaps they know where Potter is at…'_

When the class period had ended and the students where packing up their things, Severus swiftly glided down to the students in question, putting on his trademark scowl.

"You two, remain here."

The Weasley boy looked as though he might have protested, but quickly fell silent at the daggers the Granger girl shot his way.

Hermione, unaffected by her professor's intimidating demeanor, spoke in an even tone of voice.

"Is there something you need from us Professor?"

Snape let his facial features relax slightly; He knew that dealing with the girl would be much easier than having to interrogate her red headed counterpart.

"Yes," he began, his voice still stern, "I wish to know if the two of you know of Potter's whereabouts and why, exactly, he found it prudent to skip my class this afternoon."

For just a moment, the bushy haired girl's eyes darted over to uneasily meet those of the boy's. Though it was a quick movement, Severus did not miss it- he never missed anything.

"Well sir, we actually haven't seen him since the first class period this morning." She paused, her eyes revealing her worry. "He just got up and ran out of Potions this morning and didn't come to any of our other classes."

Severus changed directions.

"Have you seen him over the course of the day, Mr. Weasley? In the Gryffindor common room perhaps?"

The red haired boy looked up at him indignantly.

"No, I went up after Potions to see if he was there, but our rooms were empty." He puffed out his skinny chest. "But what's it any of your business where Harry is?"

"Ronald!"

Severus raised an eyebrow at the young man in front of him, but did not grow angry. At least he was able to tell by each of their reactions that neither lied about the information they had given him.

"It is my business, Mr. Weasley, as Mr. Potter's teacher to know why he did not attend my class today. Furthermore, I suggest that you not use such a belligerent tone when speaking to one of your professors- were we in class you would have received a week's worth of detentions for your cheek. However, as I am disrupting your schedule, I will let it pass."

He watched as the boy's face and ears grew redder and redder.

Checking the time on the muggle clock hanging on the wall by his desk, he continued saying, "Now, as I have no further questions for either of you, and I'm sure neither of you wish to spend any more time with me than necessary, I suggest you both get to the Great Hall before the beginning of dinner."

Keeping her eyes cast downward, Hermione muttered a quick "Thank you sir," before steering Ron through the door of the classroom and exiting herself. Severus watched them go evenly, letting the empty of the classroom sink into him. For once, the young teacher did not know exactly what he should think. Something had been peculiar about the entire affair with the two Gryffindors, something that sent an ominous chill down the professor's spine. He couldn't explain what the feeling was, but it was something the senses he had gained as a spy would not let him ignore. And judging from his past experiences with the Potter boy and his annoyingly loyal friends, he hadn't even reached the tip of the iceberg.

* * *

><p>Harry knelt down in one of the smallest corridors of the fourth floor and pressed his aching forehead against the cool stone of the castle's walls. He hadn't gone back to the Tower as he had originally planned to, instead wandering around the castle's many halls and floors for hours on end. He didn't quite know what he was doing.<p>

He laughed to himself. What a mundane thing to think. Did he _ever_ know what he was doing? Harry rolled over so that he sat with his back against the wall, leaned into the hard stone and closed his weary eyes with a calming exhale.

When he really thought about it, it seemed as though he never knew exactly what was going on, with anything that he did. After fighting Voldemort four times, Harry still did not know of any way that he could defeat him. Each encounter with the dark wizard had resulted with him scrambling to dodge blows and frantically trying save his own life and the lives of those around him. He never had any sort of plan, and even after each battle Harry felt as if he had missed something in their encounter, something he should have picked up on. It was like trying to grasp at smoke, or completing a puzzle only to find that there was a piece missing that couldn't be found. And while Harry knew that the feeling was irrational, he couldn't help but feel as though it was his own fault. He wasn't smart enough to find Voldemort's fatal flaw, and definitely wasn't strong enough to beat him in an offensive attack against the wizard.

But wasn't he supposed to be?

Wasn't he supposed to be the Wizarding world's only hope? He HAD to be strong enough and smart enough- if he wasn't, his friends would die.

'_Like Sirius…'_

But how could he save the Wizarding world when he couldn't even manage his own life? Harry knew that he was certainly no physical, emotional, or social super hero. He thought of Cho and the disaster their relationship had turned out to be the previous year. He couldn't even manage to keep her happy, and she had ended up miserable.

'_At least you're good at being a depressing spoil sport,'_ he thought morosely.

With a shift, his thoughts turned to Ginny. He wasn't sure why, but over the last few months he had begun to think of Ginny more and more frequently. He supposed it was because she had played such a large role in helping with Dumbledore's Army and the battle at the Department of Mysteries, added to the fact that she was his best mate's sister. But that didn't explain why he thought of her crisp, cheerful laugh, or the way her long, red hair would swish behind her as she walked. The way his heart seemed to feel lighter whenever she called his name…

No.

He wouldn't allow this for himself. Besides the fact that he knew Ginny was dating Dean, he couldn't bear the thought of making her as miserable as he had made Cho. She was too pure, too much a part of his life already, and he couldn't spoil her happiness. He knew that while she would always be his friend, he couldn't provide for her what she needed in a romantic companion; He just wasn't good enough.

The thought pressed itself into his already pounding forehead.

'_Not good enough.' _

All his evidence seemed to be pointing to that conclusion, wasn't it?

'_Not good enough._

Absentmindedly his hand once again drew out the small knife in his pocket.

'_Not good enough.'_

And even if that wasn't what all his evidence pointed to, what did it matter? It wasn't as if all of these things could lead to anything good.

'_Not good enough.'_

He needed this to stop. Everything around him seemed to be moving at break neck speed, and he wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep up. He rolled up his right pants leg. It was already hard to breathe…

'_Not good enough.'_

His breathing became labored, like something was cutting off his airways. He couldn't do anything, not a damned thing. He was going to die. Voldemort was going to kill him.

'_Neither can live while the other survives.'_

And even if he did manage to escape alive, what would happen then? Would he live the rest of his life scarred and alone? Once he defeated Voldemort would anyone care about his existence?

'_Make it stop...make it stop…please…'_

The spinning was unbearable. The knife settled over his skinny shin bone, his hand shaking. Everything was blurry despite the fact that nothing was moving…

'_Do it.'_

And just like that the colors around him became bright, a rush of oxygen filled his lungs, and the spinning that flew through his mind came to a screeching halt.

Harry watched intently as his long fingers dug the blade deeper and deeper into his flesh with each continuing stroke, and it was with sick satisfaction that he felt his heart slow as he focused on each time the skin on his leg would split open wide, the blood pooling over each angry red line.

Feeling somewhat exhausted, Harry stopped and crumpled into a relaxed slump against the wall. He would be okay. He was back in control. Everything was alright now.

At least, that's what he was determined to convince himself of.

Recomposing himself, Harry sat back up to survey his damaged leg. He grimaced.

In his frenzy he had made about eight cuts on his shin, each of which being about two to three inches long and deep enough that he could see his red and white sinew. While he didn't think that they wounds were deep enough to need stitches (or whatever the magical equivalency was, he didn't know), the blood that quickly covered his leg and dripped on the floor was enough to scare him a little. He needed something to wrap up his leg in.

Remembering the T-shirt he had used to wrap his hand in, Harry plunged into his bag. Not wanting to elicit any questions from either Ron or Hermione, he had taken it off before leaving the Gryffindor common room and stuffed it in amongst his school supplies. But now, for the second time that day, he was going to use it as a bandage.

After casting a quick _Tergeo_ on the shirt and wiping off the blood that had run down his leg with the inside of his robe, Harry ripped the old article of clothing to make one, long strip and wound it around his shin, tying it off in a tight knot. He surveyed his work.

Running his hand over the layers, he thought, '_That looks like it'll hold.'_ And with that, he rolled his pant leg back down and cast _Evanesco _on the floor, effectively cleaning the stone of the violent red that had pooled there only minutes before.

"Thank Merlin for cleaning charms," Harry muttered half-heartedly. As in response, Harry heard the great clock that sat in the middle of the castle chime through the halls, signaling both the hour and the beginning of dinner. He sighed. He knew that his actions in Potions that morning would be the cause of many uncomfortable questions from his friends at dinner, but he also knew that skipping the meal would cause many more questions.

But as Harry rose to stand, a searing pain shot through his injured leg, causing his knees to buckle under him. He hissed, reeling at the pain, and roughly sat back down in his former position. Pulling his wand back out from his bag, Harry tapped his leg, casting an _Episkey _over his injured shin. Just like when Tonks had healed his broken nose on the train only the day before, he felt a cool sensation run up his skin before being replaced with a dull heat.

He pulled up the leg of his pants. A far as he could tell, the bleeding that had already soaked through his makeshift bandage began to slow considerably.

'_That ought to do it.'_

And with that, Harry stood shakily and began his trek to the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>"Harry! Where on earth have you been?"<p>

Severus looked up evenly from over the top of his steaming cup of tea towards the shriek that came from Gryffindor table.

Dinner had passed with no sign of his least favorite Gryffindor, and Severus had begun to wonder if he should go and find the boy himself. And oh, would he **love** to be the one to find Potter after the boy had skipped all of his afternoon classes and two meals.

But just as he was about to clear away his empty and untouched plate and finish draining his tea, what he recognized as Granger's shrill voice floated over the other various conversations that were going on in the vast dining hall.

"Harry! Where on earth have you been?"

Scanning up the table rows, Severus' eyes eventually landed upon an untidy mop of black hair that was being tackled by an even untidier bush of brown hair. So it seemed that the Potter brat had decided to show up after all. Setting down his tea, the Potions Master remained still in his seat at the staff table, blankly observing the three friends' movements to see if he could possibly follow their conversation.

He watched as the girl let go of her hold on Potter and replaced her arms to her hips, taking on an accosting stance.

For a moment, the action reminded Severus of the same stance Lily had taken in front of him so many years ago…

But that was the past.

The trio sat back down at their table, and something caught Severus' eye as he watched the Granger girl piling food unto Potter's plate and the Weasley boy pouring generous amounts of pumpkin juice into his goblet. Perhaps it was just the distance and dim lighting of the Hall, but it almost looked to Severus like Potter was grimacing with each spoonful of food that was heaped onto his plate. But yet, the closer he scrutinized the boy's face, the more it seemed like he was staring longingly at the quantities that had been placed before him.

'_So why isn't he eating? He's certainly thin enough to be hungry…'_

And then something most peculiar happened.

Potter was stuffing intermittent forkfuls of food into a napkin beneath the table. In fact, he did it so often when his friends were distracted talking to one another that more than half of the food on his plate had been shoved into several napkins.

With another chime of the clock signaling dinner to be at its end, the students of Hogwarts rose from their seats and dispersed amongst themselves to their various nighttime activities.

All of the students with the exception of Potter.

From what he could see, the boy, who remained sitting at his house table, was smiling and waving off his two friends, who gave him uneasy looks as they eventually consented and left at the tail end of the wave of students leaving the hall.

Severus stood up, falling back into the shadowed arcs near the side walls. He was going to find out exactly why Potter was acting so strangely.

* * *

><p>Harry got up from his seat, exhaling slowly.<p>

He had felt guilty about sending Ron and Hermione away from him, especially after their reactions when he had finally shown up at dinner. But as much as he had wanted to accompany his friends back to the common room, he felt that it would be best to make the trip back by himself- his stomach felt swollen and tumultuous, and Harry had the unpleasant feeling that he might have to make an emergency stop on the way up to the tower.

Exiting the Great Hall, Harry was happy to find that the corridors seemed to be, for the most part, void of other students. If he needed to run to the nearest bathroom, he would most certainly be able to make it without any blockages or people staring at him. Harry approached the first set of staircases.

"And where, Mr. Potter, do you think you are going?"

Harry froze and felt his stomach muscles give a violent lurch as the hand of his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor clamped onto his shoulder.

Under the guidance of the older man's sturdy grasp, Harry turned around to face him.

Wherein he promptly vomited all over the front of Severus Snape.

**A/N: Please review and tell me what sucked and what you liked! :3**


	4. Chapter 4: Athazagoraphobia

**A/N:**** My goodness this took longer to update than I had hoped… Finals week and the preparation got in my way :/ But it's winter break now! :D As always, I do not own. Warnings: Language, Self-Injury**

**Chapter 4:** **Athazagoraphobia**

It took all of Severus Snape's will power to retain his composure and keep his expression in its normal collected state.

He had just been puked on.

Never, in all fifteen years of his teaching career, had he been puked on by a student. Sure he had been witness to several unfortunate results of potions gone awry, had had to deal with sick students every term without fail, and had even had to attend to nursing fellow Death Eaters who had suffered the wrath of the Dark Lord's temper. But he had never had the unpleasant experience of having vomit expelled onto his person. And quite frankly, he had hoped he would have never had to.

With a vast amount of energy, Severus pried his mind away from the stinking sludge that had just been expelled onto his front and shifted its focus to the teenager in front of him.

Unfortunately for the boy, his troubled stomach was not yet finished with him.

Harry continued to heave, despite the fact that nothing but foamy bile seemed to be left and the forcefulness of his retching forced him to his knees.

Severus watched wordlessly as the boy crumpled onto the floor. While he was alarmed by the boy's physical state, he sure as hell wasn't going to let it show, which included not holding his thin shoulders up or keeping his shaggy hair from drooping into his sweaty face.

Finally, Harry's stomach stopped its spasming, and with weak knees, he began to feebly stand back up. Seeing his obvious difficulty, Severus grabbed onto one of the boy's upper arms and yanked him the rest of the way up, perhaps a little more gruffly than he had intended to.

'_Actually, I wished I could have done it with even more force…'_

Panting hard, Harry recollected himself before catching sight of his professor. Severus watched with mild amusement as horror dawned upon the teenager's face, his mouth falling open at the sight of the man in front of him.

"Prof-professor Snape, I-I'm…"

"Silence Potter," Snape said, cutting him off. He calmly pulled out his wand. Harry recoiled, and it was not an action Severus missed. For that moment, however, he let it go. The boy probably thought he was going to hex him into oblivion for throwing up all over him. Not that far of a stretch of the imagination actually…

"Tergeo," he muttered, and instantly the front of his robes went back to their normal, spotless black selves. Severus looked on as Harry's face eased a little at his professor's clean clothes. "Now," he continued, surveying Harry's sweating and shivering form with disgust," I believe it is time to discuss your punishment for skipping my class this afternoon."

Harry couldn't believe it. Snape had just assigned him detention after he had puked out his guts in front of him. And even more unbelievable was that he had thrown up on his professor and the dour man didn't seem to be angry over it!

'_I've got to be dreaming…If this was the real Snape I'd be dead right now…._

But instead, Snape had begun to walk down the hall towards the dungeons. Noticing that his student was not following him, he turned around.

"Stop lolly-gagging Potter, unless you wish to receive punishment for simple mindedness as well."

Not wanting to tempt the man with another opportunity to punish him, Harry attempted to shake off the nausea that continued to wash over him and unsteadily followed his professor down into the dungeons.

Severus kept his eyes glued on Harry as the boy silently sat scrubbing cauldrons in the back corner of the classroom. Something was most definitely wrong with him.

Ignoring the fact that Potter had gotten violently ill just under an hour ago, there was something about the boy that was amiss. When he assigned him his punishment, the usually bull-headed and stubborn Gryffindor had been wordless, and did not even glance up at his professor. Instead, the boy simply shuffled over to the pile of cauldrons that lay waiting for him and sat himself quietly in the nearest chair and began to scrub. The more Severus watched him, the more he noticed that a vacant expression was plastered across Potter's face. Normally, the boy would be scowling at his work, a sign of his indignation clear on his face. However now there was nothing.

Silently working over him, Severus noticed something else. Although the boy seemed to be paying no attention to his chore, the cauldrons he had finished cleaning were impeccably spotless. From what he could tell, the cauldrons were cleaner than they had ever been since he had purchased them years ago. Horace, at least, would be pleased at the task having been done for him so well. Moreover, Potter seemed to have gotten through more than half of the pile. He himself wouldn't have been able to have gotten that many done in such a short amount of time, despite his years of practice at cauldron cleaning.

"Potter!" He barked, breaking the boy from his silent work.

Slowly, Harry's arm stopped moving and looked up to make eye contact with the other man. Severus was struck by this look. The stare he was receiving was completely void of any emotion. A dark tug of five o'clock shadow hung over all of the boy's features, including his once brilliant emerald eyes. Instead of holding the light and laughter that Severus had always seen in Lily's eyes, he saw a diminished and hazy dullness that seemed almost to stare into some eternal nothing. The drastic difference in Potter's eyes and his mother's unnerved him.

"Finish with that cauldron and you may work on any school work you have yet to complete. If my class was any indication to the rest of your day, you should have plenty of work to keep even your simple mind occupied."

With his latest insult Severus had hoped to illicit some kind of response from the Gryffindor in front of him. However, Harry gave no reaction to say that he had heard him other than to get back to his mindless cleaning.

Silently, Severus opened a small drawer in the desk, reaching within it to pull forward a photograph. It was an old picture, one that accompanied him everywhere he went. It was yellowed and torn with age, and unlike the other photographs in the wizarding world, it did not move. Enclosed within the picture's edges were a boy and a girl; Lily and his fifteen year old self. He remembered this photo well; it was the last photo he and Lily would ever take together, captured on Lily's muggle camera sometime in the summer before their fifth year at Hogwarts. Despite the camera's non magical qualities and low quality, the image was still crisp and quite beautiful.

'_Lily always did have an artistic flair…'_

Even with the age of the picture, Severus could see the bright, auburn tones of Lily's long red hair clearly, starkly contrasted with his own black, shaggy, and unkempt hair. He looked on the photograph sadly. Both he and Lily were smiling, wide, goofy smiles that had managed to etch themselves into all of their features. They were warm and carefree, full of life and hope. He frowned bitterly. Oh how that would change. But here, captured forever, was the remainder of their friendship. As long as he had that photo, Lily would be his best friend, his only love. But Severus knew that another part of Lily lived on. Staring up at him from within his desk drawer were Lily's vibrant eyes, almost grinning at him. Those beautiful green eyes had not died with her, they lived on…

A loud _thunk _pulled Severus from his thoughts. Quickly slipping the picture into his robe pocket, he looked up at the source of the sound.

In the far corner where the cauldrons sat, Harry was slouched at the table, and Severus realized painfully that the sound he had heard must have been the boy's head hitting the wooden surface. He had fallen asleep… How dare the boy fall asleep in his detention!

"Potter," he said loudly, "wake up."

The boy didn't stir.

"POTTER!"

There was still no response.

At this, the potions master rose quickly and swiftly made his way to Potter.

'_Perhaps I should have payed more attention to the boy's illness this evening…'_

Within seconds Severus was at the boy's side and had leaned him back so as to take a look him. Snape eased a finger over Potter's eyelid, pulling it gently upward, revealing nothing but white.

'_Either the boy has fallen unconscious or he's deep in sleep, though judging from earlier I would guess the latter…'_

Pressing a hand against Harry's forehead, Severus could feel the heat radiating off of his student's skin and the chills that began to ripple down the boy's body. He was most definitely ill. Severus checked the time; it was past midnight already.

'_Poppy is bound to be asleep by now…'_

It seemed that he had no other choice. Potter would have to remain in his quarters for the night.


	5. Chapter 5: Dishabiliophobia

**A/N: So, I reread that last chapter and I have to say that it was complete and utter crap. I'm sorry D': I'll try to make this one better! Anyway, thanks to those that follow all the chapters, regardless of how bad they turn out. Again, I own absolutely nothing. **

**Chapter 5:** **Dishabiliophobia**

Feeling his arm and back muscles screaming in protest, Severus Snape eased the small student in his grasp onto the battered old loveseat in the living room of his quarters. Although Horace had taken his position as Potion's Master, Severus had kept his living quarters at Dumbledore's request so he would be close to the house of which he was head, and he had to admit- after spending not only 15 years as a teacher in the dungeons but also having called them home as a student, he did not mind staying where he was.

The trek back from the Potions' classroom had been short and to Severus' delight, uneventful. Due to the late hour and the general avoidance of the dungeons by all except for his own students, he had not expected to encounter any others on the short walk back to his quarters. Severus had made sure that his students knew well that if he caught them out of bed after hours they would be figuratively skinned alive, and he was always certain to make an example out of those who chose to violate the rules anyway. He would never, of course, harm one of his students and to a degree he tried to make sure that the punishment was fair to the crime, however Severus was strict, for he was completely aware of how volatile some of his children could be if they were not kept on a short leash.

Standing up straight, he grimaced at his aching back. As much as his muscles hurt, he knew that they did not hurt enough. He had never been a particularly strong man, having spent nearly all of his childhood and teenage years buried in books and although he had grown to be decently tall, he had always been on the thinner side of the spectrum. What bothered Severus more than the pain he was in from carrying Harry was how relatively _easy_ the task had been. Judging by how old the boy was combined with his average height, he should have been heavier in his arms. Much heavier.

Going back to the shivering boy lying in front of him, Severus set to work gathering up medicinal potions appropriate for Potter's symptoms and getting his student in a more comfortable state for the night.

Browsing along his personal shelves of potions, he selected out a few vials containing fever reducers, stomach settlers, and a muscle relaxer. He decided that if he was going to cure Potter of his ills, he might as well take care of everything that might possibly be ailing the boy. Going back over to the side of the small couch, Severus lifted Harry's chin and one by one poured each other carefully into the boy's slightly ajar mouth. After waiting for several minutes, he felt his forehead and, satisfied with the cooler temperature and halt of his shivers, Severus felt confident enough to change Harry out of his uniform before wrapping the boy up and getting ready for sleep himself.

Wordlessly, Severus summoned one of his night shirts from inside his bedroom and began untying the boy's shoes, removing them. Deciding that changing his pants would be far too awkward for both men, Severus instead took the night shirt in his lap and made up his mind that getting Harry out of his sweat-soaked shirt and robe would be enough.

'_I can't believe I'm even doing this much…Damned Potter.'_

Slipping off the boy's tie and robe, Severus unbuttoned Harry's shirt before halting. He now understood why carrying the child had been so easy.

Harry's exposed chest and stomach were a pitiful sight to behold. The skin across his chest was stretched taut against his rib cage which sloped gracefully into the boy's slightly caved in stomach. Severus' eyebrows quirked as he laid a hand against the skeletal frame before him.

Was the boy starving himself? Considering the actions he had observed at dinner, the notion wouldn't have surprised the young teacher. But what reason would he have for doing such a thing?

'_Knowing Potter's arrogance he's probably putting himself through some kind of hunger strike because the Prophet isn't reporting on him every other day…'_

As much as he would have liked to have entertained that notion, the reasonable and intelligent side of him would not let that idea stay in his head long. If that had indeed been the case, then the boy probably would not have bothered to hide to from his friends the fact that he was not eating. However, Harry had allowed Weasley and Granger's attempts to feed him, and had eaten roughly half of the portions that had been forced onto his plate.

Could the boy possibly be suffering from some kind of anorexia? Severus frowned. He had had experience with this kind of thing with a few students from varying houses over the course of his teaching career, though he had to admit, he knew little about the causes of such an affliction. Due to his keen sense of those around him and fluxes in magical abilities which had been honed during his spy years, Severus was usually the first teacher to notice when something was internally wrong with a student. However, if he did happen to discover anything of that nature, the student was handed over to Madame Pomfrey and he heard little more about it. This would definitely be something he would inquire Potter about when the boy woke up.

Carefully leaning the boy forward, Severus tugged Harry's limp arms out from the sleeves of his shirt and removed the article of clothing altogether. For once, his tight control over his features fell and he gasped in shock.

Criss-crossing the boy's back were long, thick scars of varying age, accompanied by other wounds that appeared to be relatively fresh. Slowly moving a hand over the boy's exposed back, Severus gently ran a finger over the one of the more prominent scars he saw. The scar appeared to be one of the older ones, and was hard and knotted to the touch. The older man recoiled at the feel of it, his hand ghosting unconsciously to his own shoulder. So he and Potter had something in common after all.

All of a sudden Severus felt something cold begin to run down the hand that had been holding the boy upright. He wrinkled his nose upon realizing what it was.

Blood.

Shifting the boy around as he had been had resulted in enough stretching in the boy's already taut skin to cause some of the newer gashes to split and bleed openly. Taking out his wand, Severus tapped the tip against Harry's back and muttered _Vulnera Sanentur_, effectively closing the wounds to leave only faint pink scars. He smirked faintly to himself.

'_To think I'm using my own counter-curse on the son of James Potter WITHOUT my being the cause of his injuries…'_

Quietly, Severus pulled his own night shirt over his student, laid the boy back down onto the loveseat, and covered him with a thick blanket before settling himself down into a comfortable but rickety rocking chair, which was the only other piece of furniture in the small living room. He sat silently for several minutes before summoning over a bottle of mead and a short glass. Severus was not normally a heavy drinker, but considering the events that had taken place in the past few hours, he felt that he deserved a few drinks to help himself re-gather his non-chalant demeanor.

Sipping on his now full glass of cognac, he watched as Harry began to mutter softly in his sleep. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. This was going to be a long night…

Harry awoke with a shiver. Blearily opening his eyes, he came to the slow realization that he was not in his four post bed. In fact, he was not in Gryffindor Tower at all. He jolted up, his mind flying into full alertness.

Where was he? Where was the last place he could remember being? How had he gotten to wherever he was? Was there anyone else here? What had happened to him while he was unconscious? He shuttered as he thought of all the worst possibilities of his last question. The last thing he could remember was being in his detention with Snape. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to relax and take in his surroundings. He froze as he spotted the figure beside him.

It was none other than the overgrown bat of the dungeons, Severus Snape himself.

The man was seated deeply in an old rocking chair, his head nestled into his chest. Soft expulsions of air were coming in a steady in and out from his slightly parted lips. It was a sight Harry never thought he would see; Snape was sleeping.

The teenager crept closer to observe the man before freezing; The fabric ruffling against his torso was not the article of clothing that he had had on when he passed out. He looked down at the soft, old night shirt that hung loosely on his depraved frame and realized that, with horror, the shirt could only belong to the Potions Master.

Harry could feel himself reeling.

'_How much of me did Snape see? There's no way the git would care enough to actually undress and redress me, I don't have anything to worry about!'_ Harry bit his lip. _'What if he did?' _

Feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, he crawled to the opposite end of the bed and began to stuff his feet into his shoes. He did not want to be around when Snape woke up, despite knowing full well that the man would skin him later for his ungratefulness. He just couldn't face his professor before he had time to think the situation over. He needed time to prepare his excuses. Thankfully, he noticed that Snape had chosen _not_ to change his pants and would therefore _not_ have seen his leg… That at least was a relief.

Gathering up his clothes and his school bag which luckily Snape had left by the couch, Harry crept quietly towards the door to his freedom.

"So, it seems that the Golden Boy is too good to show any appreciation."

Harry felt his stomach leap into his throat as his hand landed on the doorknob. The silky voice was much closer than it should have been…

Whipping around, Harry smacked directly into the broad chest of his professor before falling back into the still closed door. Snape wrinkled his nose and hoisted the boy back up by the scruff of his neck.

"Pr-professor," Harry sputtered, "I was just going back t-"

"No, Mr. Potter, I daresay you aren't going anywhere."

Not letting go of Harry's neck, Snape drug the boy back over to the loveseat in the center of the room.

"Sit," he commanded sternly.

Knowing better than to argue at this point, Harry dejectedly sat down on the center of the couch and stared at own battered trainers. What exactly did Snape plan to do to him? Was he going to ask about his back? Would he punish him further for trying to run away?

'_Pfft, some brave Gryffindor I am…'_

Snape was still standing directly in front of him, but the boy didn't have the nerve to look up at his professor's face, and again he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He just couldn't, even when Snape spoke again.

"Explain yourself."

"Am I in some kind of trouble professor?" Harry muttered, still looking at his sneakers.

"Look at me when you speak Potter," hissed Severus, holding back the anxiety that was held within his chest. Potter knew that he had found out, so why was he acting like nothing had happened?

"Am I in trouble professor," Harry said looking up, a little more boldly this time. Severus could see the fire sparked behind the boy's hungry eyes. There was the arrogance he was used to. The knot he had felt forming eased a little at this return of Potter obnoxious spunk.

"Better," he sniffed.

Sitting back down on the rocking chair, Severus crossed his legs and pulled out his wand, resting it lazily against his knee.

"Since you seem insistent on being insufferably obstinate, I will give you two choices regarding this situation."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Snape's raised hand and a piercing glare.

"Do not interrupt me Potter. I am sure that you are well aware of what I speak and the seriousness that accompanies it."

At this Harry blushed even deeper. So Snape had seen. _'I'm pathetic,'_ he thought furiously. _'How many times have I almost died, yet I can't even stand up to my muggle family?'_ His mind shifted onto the wounds on his legs and the shame ran even further into him. _'I can't even stand up to myself…'_

"Now, I am willing to give you two choices Potter," Snape continued, "and be lucky that I am giving you that many. Your first option is to report to Headmaster Dumbledore accompanied by Madame Pomfrey and tell him all of your injuries, how you came by them, and how long this abuse has been going on."

Harry panicked. There was no way that Dumbledore could know about what went on during his summers. He knew the man depended on him to be the strong "Chosen One", and he had already disappointed him so much already.

"But sir," Harry interjected, trying to quickly think up a story his teacher would accept. "All of that happened during the Tri-Wizard tournament, there's nothing wrong at home!"

Suddenly Snape was inches away from Harry's face, his black eyes spewing venom at the boy.

"Do. Not. Lie. To me. Do not think I am so foolish to not know the _age_ of wounds or be able to recognized forced injuries when I see them." His voice was quiet and deadly, and Harry knew that he had gone too far this time.

"Yes sir," he all but whispered.

Sitting back on his chair, Snape continued. "Your second option is to be fully examined by me. You will tell me everything that you have experienced and you will. Not. Leave anything out," he sneered. "If you do, I shall know, and you will be taken straight to the Headmaster," he said tapping his wand against his temple.

Clearly, Snape was not above using occlumency to find out what he wanted to know, Harry realized with a sigh. Damn.

Taking a second to weigh his options, Harry decided on the latter, no matter how awkward and embarrassing it would be to reveal the most private parts of his life to his professor. Snape already knew to an extent what had happened to him, and though he feared the man might just use it as an opportunity to ridicule him even further, there was not undoing what he had seen. At least this way no one else would have to get involved.

"I guess the second," Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape sighed and uncrossed his legs, standing up. "Alright," he said, going to his own shelves of potions and ointments. "If we are to do this before classes begin, and I assure you it WILL be done before class, it needs to be done now."

He crossed the room to stand in front of Harry once again.

"Please remove your clothing except for your undergarments. Believe me, I have no desire to see_ all_ of you Potter…"

Harry felt his face blanch. There was something Snape had yet to see…


	6. Chapter 6: Mnemophobia

**A/N: Y'all know the drill... The Queen owns everything, not me. Also, I apologize for not posting for so long. And I feel like this chapter is a little all over the place, style wise. PLEASE LET ME KNOW D':  
><strong>

**Chapter 6: ****Mnemophobia**

Harry felt his face blanch. There was something Snape had yet to see. Almost instantly his pulse shot up and the pace of his breathing grew rapidly. There was no way that Snape, or _anyone_, could _ever_ find out about that. That was too private, too shameful, and he had no one to blame but himself. And besides that, it was something that he did not fully comprehend yet. He had long ago come to terms with the injuries he sustained at the hands of his uncle. This, however, was foreign and he was not willing to give it up before he understood what was happening to him. Not to Snape.

Harry stood up twitchily, nearly toppling over the sofa behind him. The weight was clouding his brain again and the scene in front of him zoomed past at amazing speeds. Yet even in this distortion of time Snape's arm seemed to crawl as Harry saw the man reach toward him. He thought he was going to be sick, but knew that he couldn't, not when no air could reach his quickly crumpling lungs. A strong set of hands clamped down on Harry's shoulders.

No. He couldn't let him touch him.

'_Some Gryffindor I am.'_

He would find out. He couldn't find out.

'_Not good enough.'_

God damnit, he needed this!

'_Neither can live while the other survives. '_

Somewhere in the whirlwind Harry felt something digging into the flesh of his hand, before the grip on his shoulders moved to take away what was clawing into him.

'_It's your fault they died.'_

Snape couldn't know. He just couldn't.

'_Please, make it stop.'_

And as his brain finally gave out from lack of oxygen, everything went black and Harry was once again lost into darkness.

* * *

><p>It was hard for Severus to get a grasp on exactly what was happening to the boy before him until the episode was in full swing.<p>

At his command Potter had stood up shakily, and even after several seconds did not seem to regain his balance. Fearing that the boy would topple over, Snape reached out his hand to steady him with a firm grasp. There could be any number of reasons really that the boy would unstable- he certainly wasn't in pristine, or even decent physical condition, by any means. Yet has his hands clamped down on Harry's shoulder in a vice-like grip Severus noticed something odd. The boy was clearly not looking at him, his eyes instead wide and unfocused on everything and nothing in the room, and his chest was heaving as though he might be sick. _'I swear,_' Severus grimaced, the thought racing through his mind, _'if he vomits on me again, Dumbledore will have to retrieve his golden boy from my quarters in a match box…'_

This thought was cut short however, by the sudden motion of Harry's hands flying up to his hand, which startled even Snape, and it took the man a moment to realize that Harry was clawing into his flesh with his long, uncut fingernails.

Merlin, what was wrong with him? Just as Severus tugged Harry's hands away from his bony hand so that the boy would not draw blood, he dropped back onto the loveseat with a thud, where he sat slumped and frozen for many a minute.

As quickly as it had come, Severus could see the episode begin to pass as Harry's breaths began to change from choppy and uneven back to a smoother, more normal cycle. It was as Harry closed his eyes that Severus realized that his hand was still clamped tightly over the boy's wrist. He threw it from him as if the boy's flesh would cause him to burst into flames.

"Potter," he said, reclaiming his cold demeanor," get up now so we can begin. Believe me, I do not wish to do this anymore than you."

For a moment, Harry sat still with his eyes resting gently and he looked as if he could have been dozing peacefully. The sight of that made Snape's blood begin to boil.

"POTTER! Get. Up." He hissed, wishing with each passing second that he had not given the boy an option and had instead taken him immediately to Madame Pomfrey. Why hadn't he? Had it been a moment of weakness, or emotion? No, he did not fall prey to that sort of silly, common-place foolishness. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to. Just as he reached forward to grab Potter's upper arm to yank him upright, the boy's eyes opened and he stared defiantly up at his professor, a certain blaze in his gaze.

"No," he said, pulling his arm away from the older man's out stretch arm. "I don't think that I will, _sir_. This is none of your concern. I appreciate what you did for me, but you're right; I'm an ungrateful bastard."

He stood up, standing evenly against a flabbergasted Snape, who stood rooted to the spot in the face of his student's cheek.

'_Once again, Potter's arrogance has managed to go beyond what even I had expected…'_

Harry moved around his teacher and started to make his way towards the door at the other end of the Potion Master's quarters.

"Excuse me, _sir_." He whispered coldly.

Severus turned on his heel, his voice dropping to a deadly quiet utter. "Get over here, Potter. Now."

"No."

Harry keep walking, his pace quickening. He didn't even bothering to look at his professor.

"NOW!" Severus heard himself shout, despite himself.

"NO!"

Severus felt his pale cheeks flush with anger, his lips forming a thin line.

"Why you little- _LEGILIMENS_!"

With a rush of cool air, Severus felt his conscious fly forward to probe into the uncheck thoughts his least favorite student. For once, since the previous year, Severus was pleased that the Potter boy had not bothered to diligently practice Occulemency.

Like having long, invisible fingers, Severus began to pry through the mess of swirling memories that now surrounded his own thoughts. They were tangible, and in a strange split of reality, Severus was aware of the movements and objects around him, as well as the contents of Harry's mind. It was something he was used to feeling. Harry, however, was not so used to the duel sensations, and Severus could feel the boy reeling.

'_Serves him right, the bloody brat…'_

Clawing through the boy's memories, perhaps with a little more force than necessary, Severus began searching for the information he knew was there, ignoring Harry's feeble efforts to push him out.

He worked his way back through his student's memories, to some of Harry's earliest recollections.

A green haze flew past him, and he glimpsed for a moment a small boy of perhaps only 3 enviously watching another, bulkier child riding around on a fire-engine red tricycle. As quickly as it had come, it faded away. It was followed a montage or what looked like several incidents of the same nature; A still quite young child sat in a dark, cramped space as a horse-faced woman yelled through a grate on the door… Being pulled out of that room by his arm as he tried to pull back… A skinny, black haired boy running from a small gang of larger, meaner looking children led by a bulky, blonde boy, and in an instant the black haired boy was on the roof of a nearby building…

The memories became faster, more drawn together, and Severus had to keep his eyes moving fast in order to see them all as they whizzed past. Straining his grasp on Harry's thoughts, he dug harder to look at each one clearly.

More and more of the clumps of memories grew cold and bleak feeling as Severus broke down Harry's mental blocks as if he was knocking over sand castles until he happened upon the cluster he feared he would find. Unlike the others, this group of memories was a deep, iron color that gave off a faint scarlet glow. Reaching out, he pushed Harry's grip aside and opened up the bulbous red mass.

_A large man, grabbing the wrists of a small, green eyed boy as he dragged him through the halls of a house before shoving him roughly in a cupboard. _

_*'Get up Eileen, you useless slut!'*_

_The green eyed boy tapping his glasses with an old roll of scotch tape after a particularly hard crack across the face._

_*Cowering under his thin sheets has he listened to the man raging outside his door. 'I should have known! The boy's a freak, just like you Eileen!'*_

_The same young boy held up his arms as a feeble defense against the hulking man's raining blows as an odd, twisted, and sparking mug lay dashed against the floor beside them. _

"_WHAT DID YOU DO!" _

"_Nothing, I swear!"_

_*Sharp strikes across his back made the boy shiver in pain. He felt the cool liquid run down his skin as his father continued. 'I won't have it! It'll come out of you one way or another!'*_

_The whale of a man flung a telephone against the wall as he advanced upon the green eyed, teenaged boy. "HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO- TO-PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" In a flurry, the memory became distorted amid screams and the crisp cracks of a long, thin Smeltings stick._

_*'Get that whore out of my house! She's like you, isn't she?! Don't you dare bring her here again!' The hook nosed boy flung himself in front of a girl with beautiful red hair and shocking green eyes, just time to shield her from his father's clenched fist.*_

_The teenager stood trapped in his uncle's clenched hand around his throat as a fat blonde boy sat hunched over a bucket in a spotless kitchen. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR FREAKISHNESS IN MY HOUSE! GET OUT!" A hard knock cracked the boy's jaw. _

_*The hook nosed boy dragged his trunk to the door before stopping. 'It's my last year at school father…Goodbye.' The man did not look up from his half empty flask. 'You are no son of mine.'*_

All of a sudden, Severus reached one of the last memories in this clump. It was new, and it gleamed with a particularly bright glow, indicating its freshness in Harry's mind. Urging his mind forward, he gently pried it open.

_The scene-scape was blurred and distorted in a swirl of muted colors. In the background, heavy breaths were racing through the air against dream-like movements. The boy was sitting in an empty corridor, and was pulling out a small, squat knife from the pocket of his robe._

Severus concentrated hard to process the memory as it unfolded. _'What was the boy doing?'_

_Without so much as a blink, the boy jammed the edge of the blade into his skinny shin, pushing it hard to split open the skin. He repeated. And repeated. And repeated. After a few moments more, the boy stopped._

Severus felt the memory around him become clearer as the colors returned to their normal state and lines slide back into focus.

_The boy took in a deep breath, wrapped his shin in an old rag, and made his way to the Great Hall._

From within the boy's mind, Severus could feel himself being ripped back through to real time. It seemed as though Potter had finally managed to grab hold of him long enough to force him back out of his thoughts.

With a thud, Severus fell onto the hard stone of his dungeon floor. He looked up to see that both he and the Potter boy were on the ground, sweating and panting. He stared shrewdly at the now pale and shaking teenager in front of him.

"Potter," he said slowly, regaining control of his legs to stand, his eyes still glued on his student who had not yet recovered from having his mind entered. There was something he had to be sure of. "Kindly remove your trousers."


End file.
